Guilt
by Miss Peg
Summary: The night Naomi professes her love to Emily  end of s4  is the night when another chain of events begins. When Cook calls Naomi asking for help, she has to go to him. What she sees, what she does, leads to a feeling of guilt that she can't quite shake.
1. Prologue, I, II, III

**Title:** Guilt.

**Author: **Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Naomi/Emily, (with a side order of the Cookie Monster)

**Summary: **_"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."_

**Disclaimer: **Christmas is but a month away...you know you want to! ;D But no, currently, not mine.

**Warning:** Blood, guts and heartache.

**Notes: **This story was written for the **Skins Big Bang (on Livejournal)**. There is an accompaning fanmix which is available by clicking on the link in my profile. Thank you to **Lucy **my artist for creating it. Also a huge thank you to **tromana**, my beta, my cheerleader, my support in writing this (and her cat Zara who insisted on helping too), she also created some graphics which can be found on my profile too.

**Guilt.**

"_Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."_

_Coco Chanel_

**Prologue**

A loud bang rang through the house, it was over, it was finally over. Emily looked at Naomi with confusion as she dragged her out of the bedroom, up the stairs to the attic and into a tiny corner. She tugged an old piece of carpet over their heads and hid them, a make-shift fort made mostly of cardboard boxes. She felt like a child again, hiding from her grandmother when she broke a vase her mother gave her. Naomi's heart thumped along and the closer they sat the harder Emily's heart beat into her. She knew she was confused, she was confusing her, making her worry about something that shouldn't have affected her life. But it was; she was letting it happen.

'What the fuck is going on?' Emily gasped until Naomi's hand covered her mouth and her eyes stared up at her wildly, she was scared now, petrified not only of the situation, but of Naomi. She knew she could make it easier, could explain everything with a few short sentences, but vocalising what she'd done would make it real. She'd already spent months ridding herself of the thoughts, removing the constant nightmares that plagued her sleep and sometimes her wakefulness too.

'Shh,' she told her, removing her fingers from Emily's face. She didn't look happier, or comforted, not even when she rubbed her back. She used to love it when she rubbed her back and said it always made her feel like someone was looking after her.

'But,' she tried to whisper, but Naomi shook her head and she stayed silent. There was nothing else to do but wait as the banging continued, getting louder. One final smash and the front door was broken down. People were moving all over the house. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. Searching, searching for her, for proof of the crime she was too scared to admit. She didn't notice the strength of her fingers around Emily's hand until she pulled her hand away and it was bleeding, her fingernails drawing blood across her palm. She wanted to cry for the pain she'd caused, would cause, but she couldn't make any noise.

The hatch to the room opened, light filling the spaces between the boxes and her heart leapt into her throat. That was it; her life was about to end in a way she never thought possible. She had always dreamt of going to university, getting a job and becoming an adult with responsibilities. Ever since meeting Emily she'd dreamt of it all being with her. Now all she could see was her new fate, without Emily, without anyone, just a small, empty room.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Stay here.'

She was more confused now than she ever was before and that scared her, she wasn't just confused by life, but by Naomi, by her actions and existence. She wanted to explain in great detail, but the pain in Emily's face made her heart break into pieces. She started to cry, kissed her cheek and slid out of their hiding place. She prayed that she couldn't hear the words being spoken, but she knew she could.

**I**

Her phone rang, buzzing inside her jacket in that incessant way phones did. She ignored it, tried to focus on building passion as she slid her tongue into her girlfriend's mouth. Emily responded with every touch, every movement. Neither of them wanted the disruption, not now, not after all those months apart. The reunion meant more to them than either could put into words, beyond the cushy little speech Naomi couldn't even believe she'd made. She wasn't soppy or romantic and certainly wasn't one for putting her heart on the line so much. They needed the actions, their lips sharing the same space, their lungs breathing in the same air and their hands gliding across bodies they both still knew blindfolded. Not that they'd ever tried to do it blindfolded, yet.

'Ignore it,' Emily whispered the only real break in their passionate dance. Naomi's lips curled at the edges, lifting up to the sky with a level of happiness that hours ago she doubted she would ever get back.

The phone continued to aggravate them, Naomi's jacket long since discarded on the floor beside their semi-naked bodies. Nothing was going to ruin their night. Anything else could wait, even if it meant putting off bad news. They kissed through the continuous droning until Naomi could hear nothing else but the soft sound of Emily's moans in her ear.

By two in the morning they were laying side-by-side, arms wrapped protectively around each other; desperate to hold onto what they both feared losing again. Nothing changed the past, Naomi knew that. But things had changed and she would fight as hard as she could to maintain the relationship she didn't ever want to ruin again. She'd made mistakes, fought too hard against them and paid the ultimate price. In the long run, all that really mattered was her love for Emily.

'I think it's time for some Garibaldi's,' Emily grinned, cheekily. Naomi raised her eyebrows in question, only to be silenced by a finger to her lips and Emily sliding out from under the bedcovers beside her. She felt cold and alone, Emily's absence was thought consuming.

Naomi was forced back into the real world by her phone's continuous ringing. Without Emily begging her to maintain their little bubble, she found her jacket and answered what appeared to be the eighth phone call from Cook. A huge smile on her face ready to share with him news of her evening's activity, she started to tell him about the things she knew would make him rush over there demanding more than friendship. A laugh lingered on her sentences until she went silent, heavy breathing and crying evident on the other end of the phone.

'Cook?'

No answer. The only sounds were that of panic, worry and sobbing. Cook's actions quickly filtered into Naomi's voice and she begged for him to answer her.

'James?'

There wasn't a lot she could do but listen and wait, expecting to hear his bouncy, repulsing voice fill every crevice. She waited and nothing came but further sobs. She whispered his name again, pleaded with him to say something so that she knew he was okay. Only, when the words came, she wished she could turn back the clock and let his silence continue.

'I've done something, something bad, I need you.'

Doubts infiltrated Naomi's conscious. She didn't want to go, through fear of what would happen. But what other option did she have? He was her friend, her _best_ friend. He had looked out for her, taken the heat on Sophia's death. Without Cook, she would be sitting in a prison cell. She owed him, she owed him everything. He told her where he was, pleaded with her to come to him and hung up the phone quickly.

'Cook? Cook?'

The line went dead and all Naomi could do was listen to the murmur. She contemplated all of the possibilities; Cook stealing and crashing a car, taking drugs, punching someone into the next millennium. He wasn't one for doing anything by halves, he usually only needed a little help to fix things. Emily's hands came down around her shoulders, pulling her mind from the troubles hovering on the surface. She tried to smile up into Emily's beautiful brown eyes but trying and doing were two very different things.

'What's wrong?'

Even with months apart, Emily still knew her better than she could disguise. Emily held her chin, forced their eyes to join. In Emily's arms she failed to be deceitful. Ever since things with Sophia she made herself and Emily a promise that they would never lie again. Even about the small things. What was the point?

'Cook's upset; I need to go to him.'

'But this is our first night together, properly,' Emily whispered, disappointment lacing her words. It also lingered in her eyes to which Naomi's heart melted in sorrow. She didn't want to do it, couldn't bear the thought of pulling herself away from Emily's company.

'I know; I'm sorry. But he really needs me.'

'_I_ need you.'

'You've had me; you've got me, for the rest of our lives.'

One tender kiss was all that was needed to release her from Emily's sorrowful expression, to be freed from the guilt of leaving Emily in her bed _again_. There were many days in their future where they could be together, many nights where they didn't need to go to sleep and could hold each other for hours on end. There was only one night where Cook needed her in a way she'd never seen him need anyone before.

'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

She spoke the truth, words she knew she would do everything to make happen. As she left her beautiful red head, curled under the bedcovers, nibbling on a Garibaldi, a sense of foreboding hit Naomi with force. She didn't know where the feeling came from, but something in the night air, in the full moon on the horizon, left her wondering what would come of the night; the night when her world was righted and about to be changed once more.

**II**

Shadows travelled across the darkened walls created by the gusty winds blowing trees outside. Naomi searched for Cook; and nearly walked out again before she spotted him huddled up in a corner.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' she gasped, the situation bizarre on so many levels. She stepped closer; and kept an eye on the floor as she shuffled along. Until her feet collided with something hard, something dark and hidden by the late night absence of light. That was when the smell hit her.

'Whose house is this Cook?'

There was no time for answers, no need as a stream of light glistened over a bloody face. Doctor Foster. Dead. He had to be dead; his eyes were open, staring at her with pleas and sorrow. What had he done? What had Cook done?

'What, this? Cook he's dead. What the fuck happened?'

Dead. He was dead. Cook had killed him with his bare hands. What other option was there? Naomi couldn't quite process the situation, how could anyone? The man was laid on the floor, his body battered and bruised; blood coated the stone tiles like icing on a cake. This wasn't an accident; this wasn't even Cook being angry. It was murder, cold blooded murder.

'Why?' she cried out, her voice shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. She couldn't vocalise everything inside her head, her thought processes hadn't had time to function fully. She just knew there were things she should have said.

The question lay unanswered; Cook sat on the floor, his body rocking stereotypically. There was nothing typical about the colour drained from his already pale cheeks, or the distant look of his eyes so lost. Whatever happened, Cook couldn't have been entirely to blame. He didn't apologise, he didn't take shit from idiots. He stood up for what he believed in and he wasn't afraid of criminal activity. Until now. He looked petrified.

'Don't let them take me,' he cried, a voice usually strong now barely a whisper. His personality destroyed.

She'd talked to him, really shared her soul with the only person in the world who understood her. Even better than Emily. They were equals and their relationship had always reflected that. It tried to get complicated; Cook would have done anything to fuck her. But they weren't like that; they were closer, like brother and sister.

'I can't do it to Paddy,' Cook sobbed, falling into Naomi's outstretched arms. She held him, rocked with him and kissed his forehead. Brushed back his hair stroked away his tears and tried to sooth him with gentle words. Nothing worked. He wasn't Cook; he was someone she barely recognised.

'What happened?' she tried, kneeling in front of him, ignoring the blood soaking into her clothes. His hands were clammy, shaking violently. She attempted to hold them steady, failing instantly. The skin across his knuckles was displaced, bloody with twisted skin; bones on one hand awkwardly angled. So she reached out to his face, forced his eyes to lock with her own and she watched the tears fall.

'How did this happen Cook?'

'I don't know, I don't,' he shook his head against her hands, his tears strolling across her fingers. They tickled her skin, an irritating itch that she couldn't scratch.

'You do know, Cook. _James_, your knuckles are bleeding, your hands are fucked up. That doesn't happen on its own. Effy's counsellor is dead. He's fucking dead Cook.'

The stability that somehow kept her level headed crumbled as her eyes began to well up. The situation was worse than she could ever comprehend. She couldn't grasp the concept

'You fucking killed him Cook, you killed him.'

'I know,' Cook cried, sobs escaping tenfold until his cries disappeared with the strain of his voice. And then he found his voice again and everything changed.

'He killed him, he killed Freddie.'

'We need to call the police,' Naomi mumbled, sensibility returning, forcing her to act. When Sophia died she wanted to run away, to hide from her part in the death. But Cook kept her strong, told her what to do and when. She leaned on him for support, until he took the wrap and paid for her crime. The guilt she felt had never gone away.

'No,' Cook cried out, kneeling up and clinging to her clothes. 'I can't go to prison, I can't. Paddy, who'll protect Paddy?'

His desperate plea played on her heartstrings. He needed _her_; he was begging her to help him. What other choice did she have?

'But it was self-defence. I'll tell them I was here; I'll tell them what you told me. That he killed Freddie. It's going to be okay.'

Her words sounded even, spoken with confidence. Underneath she was shaking too.

'They won't believe me,' he whispered. 'Why would some poncy doctor kill a kid? Things like that don't happen, not 'ere. They'll think it were me. I 'ated him.'

'You loved him.'

'They won't think that. They'll think I killed him.'

The reality of Cook's words left her shaking harder. He was right. Cook had problems; he was already on the run from police. Why would they believe him?

'I don't know what else we can do,' Naomi croaked. In all honesty, she did. It didn't have to end with Cook and the police. She'd seen it on television, those pathetic soap operas where if someone ended up dead the person involved would call up their friend and the two of them covered up the crime. She'd watched and complained to Emily, who agreed that things like that don't happen in real life. That you'd go to the police and justice would be done. She felt sick; the smell of blood and death invading every bit of fresh air. She looked over, gagging at the sight of his open eyes and mangled face. He looked beaten. There was no way they could pretend he'd fallen down the stairs or a shelf had fallen on him.

'I know what we can do.'

Her mind ticked along at lightning speed, rushing ahead of her words. They would take his car, put his body in the boot and take him to the lake. No one went there, it was overgrown. She'd considered taking Emily, a plan for when they got back together, if they got back together. Now they were it was one of her first plans. She visited a few weeks ago, wanted to make sure it was still beautiful. _It was_. But now, now they wouldn't go back. They'd find new places to explore together, to make their own.

It took longer than she expected to get Cook to move, to push him into action, she needed him though. She wasn't strong enough to move the body. Even the mere thought of Emily knowing petrified her. But that didn't stop her considering Emily as a perfect candidate to help move the corpse. Her upper body strength astounded her, that first time she'd taken a dominant role in the bedroom, Naomi had laughed at Emily's actions only to find she was surprised by how well it worked.

**III**

Silence frightened Naomi more than it used to, ever since those painful months where Emily stopped talking to her. The house had become a temporary prison designed to suffocate her. Now she was back together with Emily she assumed silence would return to its old, happy self. When her mother filled the house with strangers she longed for five minutes of peace, solace in the noisy hell that had become her home. Instead the silence screamed with regret, guilt, all of the feelings she thought had gone the moment Emily forgave her. She dreamed of the summer months when, despite the Fitch family dramas and Sophia's death, life was a beautiful cacophony of love filled hours and moments dedicated to the two of them. Dreams were sweet, waking was even sweeter and those chocolates brown eyes a symbol of everything she wanted and needed in her life.

Now she was surrounded by a darkness so deafening that it raped her old feelings of loneliness and beat them into submission. Her clothes were laden with blood, soaked deep into the material and beyond. She stripped off in the garden, a release from the bloody prison holding her back from Emily's bedside. But the blood covered her skin, patches of dark red seeped into her pores. There was no other option but to shower. The harsh jet of water landed on her shoulders and she scrubbed away desperately at her thighs, hoping the memories of that night would fade.

But they couldn't. They never would.

Blood would wash away; send tinted water spinning down the drain until every last bit of John Foster was removed from her body. Only he was still there, the image of his eyes staring back at her, her arms burning with every step they took carrying his heavy body. She couldn't escape the memory, could never escape the smell of death that hung in her perimeter like the smoke from her cigarettes. Fuck did she need a cigarette. She dried off, brushed the droplets of water off her body with such vigour, providing little relief from the desire to scrub her skin clean off her bones. She crept back along the corridor towards the stairs, hoping to whoever may be above that she still had a packet of cigarettes in the kitchen drawer. And then she heard a whisper so quiet that she wished she didn't hear it at all.

'Naoms? Is that you?'

'It's me,' she croaked, her voice sounding alien under the strain of the evening. She gripped the edges of her towel, silently begging for a cigarette to stop herself from shaking.

'Come to bed,' Emily called, her voice an angelic comfort after the dramatic turn of events. Her eyes stung with the onset of tears, an internal battle to maintain composure whilst wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.

'I'll be there in a few minutes.'

'No, now.'

Emily's forcefulness only came around once in a blue moon and Naomi was weak to her prowess. Her desperate need for a cigarette far outweighed everything in life, except Emily's tiny voice and then she spoke again and there was nothing else Naomi could do but follow instructions.

'I've waited long enough. Time for you to make up for disappearing all night.'

**AN****: ****I've been working on this story since August. I've invested months of my time thinking up and creating this story. Please take just a moment out of your lives to review. I'll be forever grateful!**


	2. IV, V, VI, VII

**Title:** Guilt.

**Author: **Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Naomi/Emily, (with a side order of the Cookie Monster)

**Summary: **_"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."_

**Disclaimer: **Christmas is but a month away...you know you want to! ;D But no, currently, not mine.

**Warning:** Blood, guts and heartache.

**Notes: **This story was written for the **Skins Big Bang (on Livejournal)**. There is an accompaning fanmix which is available by clicking on the link in my profile. Thank you to **Lucy **my artist for creating it. Also a huge thank you to **tromana**, my beta, my cheerleader, my support in writing this (and her cat Zara who insisted on helping too), she also created some graphics which can be found on my profile too.

**Guilt.**

"_Guilt is regret for what we've done._

_Regret is guilt for what we didn't do."_

_Author Unknown_

**IV**

Red. Everywhere. Seeping through her body into the bed below, dripping off the edges of the wooden frame like gunge falling from a celebrities hair on television. Thick, lumpy red liquid invading her skin, her hair, taking over her vision until all she could see was red and all she could smell was death. A colour so prominent in her nightmares that waking up to a mouthful of red hair sent a panic through her until she couldn't breathe and Emily, her beautiful red headed Emily had to hold her steady to stop her from falling, to help her breath. Yet she still couldn't find an even pace until red was replaced by the chocolate of Emily's eyes and everything became so much easier.

'Cook,' she whispered under her breath, a reaction to the situation. She couldn't help it. Nor could she help the look in Emily's eyes, a look of pain and hurt. Hurt that she'd caused her already, again.

'I love you,' she cried out, tears falling without permission down the hills of her face. 'I thought, I forgot, I thought it was a dream.'

Lies, all lies, her words no longer reflected the truth she once felt in her heart and she had no control over that. Emily needed an answer that could bring a smile back to her face and there it was, that perfectly obscure diamond that her lips formed, soft lips that knew how to do so many wicked things. Lips that could ruin the world in less than five minutes, or at least distract her long enough not to notice the destruction forming. Emily was perfect in her flaws and that made everything even harder. Naomi had made mistakes and done the wrong thing countless times. She'd broken Emily and mended her again, yet had the power to destroy it all for a final time. In everything she had done she couldn't find any reason to love herself; fucking Sophia certainly wasn't a flaw anyone could care about. Her mood swings, her ability to drink and smoke herself into oblivion whenever anything went remotely wrong. Emily hated that, without using words she knew that was how Emily felt. Then there was her stubborn streak, her inability to do things she didn't want to do, or not do things she was desperate for. It brought her to Emily after all, yet it also took her to Sophia, to the bed of another girl.

'I love you Naomi, it's okay, it wasn't a dream.'

No, it wasn't. Unfortunately. If her waist wasn't being surrounded by Emily's arms she would have wondered if the last twenty-four hours had even happened. Not to miscount her current chickens, but she didn't want to lose Emily again. But maybe having not told Emily how sorry she was, perhaps she could go back and do the night over. A comforting thought, until it dawned on her that she probably would have done exactly the same. What other choice did she have? She owed Cook her freedom and now he owed her his. Everything she did after that phone call was done because of undeniable guilt, it was in theory the right thing to do. Then again a wrong thing done for the right reasons was still a wrong thing. That was the one part of it that she couldn't handle. She covered up a murder. She didn't help Cook out of a bit of mess with a girl, she covered up a crime that could land her in jail; a crime that could and probably would take her away from Emily.

**V**

Normality appeared like an alien taking over a planet, no matter how hard Naomi fought against what she really wanted, the harder it was to ignore the fact that life moved on. Her mum was due home in less than a week and there were just eight days until their trip to India. She was given a free pass from awkward criminal activity to normal life in only a couple of days. Embracing it was the hard part.

'We need to buy sun cream, after sun, hats, anything else you can think of Naomes?'

She was forced to think beyond what was capturing her attention. Forgetting the things she'd seen that night, the things she'd done didn't happen easily. Her conscience brought it up almost every single moment of each day; it woke her up when Emily was fast asleep, it became the only thing she thought about before she went to bed. Except Emily. Even that had been tinted, instead of thinking and dreaming about Emily's mouth fighting a fire within her soul; she ran scenarios of Emily discovering the truth. Over and over and over until she couldn't bear the thought of going to bed, so she stayed awake as long as possible, pleasuring Emily not because she wanted to but because she needed a distraction, she needed a reason to be awake. Emily never complained, in fact she drowned herself in the moments, embraced their ability to have sex every single night, sometimes multiple times. Under any other circumstance they were living a dream, a perfect existence where they were the only two occupants and pleasing each other the only goal in life. Emily always had been insatiable.

Every day became the same, rolling quickly into one with every waking minute. No longer were there times of day, instead merely moments that connected together in some subordinate way. Naomi wasn't living her life; she just went through the motions, living each moment to keep Emily happy and oblivious to her betrayal. Not a far cry from how she lived after Sophia. But the situations were different; she couldn't compare the two or put them in the same boat for fear of them becoming the same. She had to find justification in her recent actions if only to maintain her mental health. Losing Emily again was not an option, nor was being honest. Their lives were intrinsically linked, liked twins. No longer was it Emily and Katie, replaced instead by Naomi and Emily. That was how it should have been, always.

She never really believed in love until she met Emily, what was there to believe in? Her mother's failed relationships; all two of them, one before she was born and the other over around the time she first met Emily. No wonder she always ran. Loving Emily didn't take full blame, not when she didn't trust people. She'd never had anyone to trust. She actually believed trust was fake, constructed to keep the masses down. They put their trust in factory owners who screwed them out of every penny they could, they trusted the government to take care of their needs; they trusted each other even though some of them were probably thieves, rapists and murderers. No, Naomi couldn't put her trust in something that always led to hurt and pain. And then she saw Emily, that red hair sparkling in the corner of the hall, her tiny smile and wide eyes looking more nervous than she ever had in middle school. Except when they'd kissed. She'd rolled her eyes, scoffed at the thought of being in the same fucking form as the glorious Fitch twins. Really, her stomach was twisted in knots and her heart beating ahead of itself. She didn't want her body to control her emotions, she felt powerless. What other option did she have? Force herself to repel everyone and everything, or succumb to those large, brown beautiful eyes staring her down.

From that moment on she suspected her plan would fail, she'd spent years after their kiss battling confusion. She wasn't gay, she didn't think about kissing girls every single night, kissing _a_ girl. She didn't dream of sex, sex in the conventional way but with Emily's face replacing every boy she ever got close to. She didn't really sleep with any of them, how could she when the moment they got close she felt sick? She could count on one hand how many boys from school she'd actually thrown herself on and how many she'd kicked out of bed. And then it happened, that kiss where she told Emily that it meant nothing, yet continued to kiss her for twenty minutes after. They didn't just kiss, they lay together, their bodies pressed together in all the wrong places...the right places. Emily became all she could think about, dream about and then she saw her, again. The lake, Emily's underwear, soaked to the skin. She tried to look away even when Emily wore that jumper, the jumper she thought about ripping off her until Emily removed it and they kissed and kissed, until Emily wasn't kissing her lips anymore and every dream she'd ever denied became a reality. No matter how hard she tried to close her heart and mind off from it.

That was how she felt in the days after she helped Cook bury John Foster. Guilty because she'd done something that was right for one person but so wrong for the other. Something she knew could ruin her whilst being everything she knew had to happen. She felt ashamed that she'd done that to Emily, again.

**VI**

India. The greatest country in the world, or at least it felt like it. The distraction Naomi had been searching for was there, in a tiny hotel in Goa. Like most holidays she'd ever taken it was an opportunity to think about everything she wanted to and ignore everything she didn't. Her focus was Emily; spending hours talking to Emily and the various strangers they met on their travels, kissing Emily under the gentle colours of a sky at sunset, making love to Emily everywhere she could think of. What more could she want in life but Emily? She spent every waking moment sharing memories and dreams with her girl, in a city they both wanted to visit, at a time when they both wanted nothing more, nothing less. But then the evening would end, Emily would drift off into an orgasm induced coma and every fear, every worry would seep back into her life as though nothing had changed. Nothing _had_ changed, except the location and at times, the language. She was still Naomi, she was still the girl that helped her best friend cover up a heinous crime and she was still lying to the one person she promised she wouldn't lie to again. But like the even breathing of Emily's sleep reminded her of her mistakes. Yet, at the same time, the smile on Emily's lips would remind her the next day that they were in India. It was _their_ city of love and they could pretend, if only for a brief while, that everything in life was perfect and that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them.

They didn't leave the hotel separately, a decision made long before either of them had even set foot on Indian soil. They weren't scared of venturing out alone, or at least Naomi wasn't; they just didn't want to be apart. Until, the morning when Emily felt sick. They woke up as they did most mornings, they kissed and cuddled and wished the sunlight seeping through the curtains wasn't demanding their attention. They got up and showered together because they enjoyed the menial task of washing side by side. They went to breakfast, where they lavished on traditional Indian food before wandering through the market at the end of their road. They stopped, drank some of their water and then Emily complained of a stomach ache. The first thing Naomi did was take her home, to the comfort of their hotel room. There she put her to bed, gave her some water and told her to rest up while she found a chemist. They'd been expecting it; it was time of the month when Emily spent half a day in bed writhing in pain. She hated leaving Emily's side and wished they'd planned ahead and brought enough painkillers for their six weeks. As she wandered back from the chemist a few blocks away, she noticed a building she'd seen dozens of times, yet never really noticed. That street was their favourite place to stare into each other's eyes and forget for one moment that they were not the only people in the world. Now she was alone she was given the chance to really see what was there, the things that represented all that was wrong with India.

A little boy sat on the front step, staring up at her with large, dark eyes. At first Naomi imagined him to be Emily as a child, no older than five, those bug eyes just as dark as the ones of her girlfriend. But he wasn't Emily. He was alone, his t-shirt plagued with dirt and his hair greying from the dust in the street. His eyes were so full of sorrow and suffering that Naomi felt tears sting her eyes. When she looked the tiny child up and down she found his feet to be twisted in and when he stood up he wobbled about. He gabbled away at her in Konkani, but not the language she'd heard so many times around her. She didn't know the language, bar a few words, yet even she recognised that the little boy spoke it badly. Her heart skipped along whilst her hands began to shake and there, under the golden sun, Naomi was reminded of back home; of Cook, of all of the things she wished to forget. Her crimes appeared simple; she'd helped in the cover up of a death. But really they were more complex; she'd lied and still was lying to Emily. She lived a life of luxury, a corrupt life which she didn't deserve when that little boy who now cried for his mother had nothing, no one. She feared losing Emily, feared losing the only thing in her life that had ever made sense, even when she hadn't let herself know just how much sense it made. But losing Emily didn't make her a pauper; it made her less wealthy, ultimately still blessed by a mother, a step-father and friends. The little boy still sobbed beside her, his grubby thumb placed carefully between open lips, he had absolutely nothing.

Naomi watched as his tears dried up and he wandered into the market, his tiny fingers outstretched to the people he passed. The stallholders ignored him, whilst tourists milled around looking at him with sorrowful expressions and looks of guilt. He wasn't the only child she saw. On closer inspection there were several hidden by the crowds, street children who she caught sight of, as she returned to the hotel, gathered together showing what they'd got from the strangers at the market. The little boy's eyes filled when he shook his head and an older child smacked him for his inability to provide for their little family. She regretted not handing him the snacks she'd bought on her way through. What did it matter if she had them or not? She'd eaten breakfast and lunch was well within her means, those children looked like they hadn't eaten for days. It took all her energy to push the tears back into her eyes until they gathered as a lump in her throat, which hurt. But the pain was nothing compared to her guilt; guilt over having more than she needed, guilt over Emily not being able to leave the hotel room and most of all, guilt of what she'd done.

'I met a little boy we need to adopt,' she announced the second she opened the hotel room door and climbed onto the bed beside Emily.

Emily raised an eyebrow at Naomi. 'We're adopting children?'

'I'm serious; he was sat on the side of the street on his own. I don't think he had any family, or anything. He got hit by an older kid.'

'So you want to take him home?'

'You would too if you met him.'

'We'll go meet our new child tomorrow before we go home, but today I demand we watch the rest of the film from last night and please tell me you have some pills for me.'

'Of course.'

The film ended for Emily long before they got through it, Naomi flicked off the remote and stroked Emily's hair back from her face, kissing her cheek. Her breath evened out with sleep, her chest rising and falling slowly. She lay on Emily's left facing her back; memories of their first night sharing a bed flooded her mind. The stillness of Emily's sleeping form unchanged from over eighteen months earlier. She reached a hand out to her hair, running her fingers through those bright locks without fear, reminiscing a time when life was easier. She'd been scared, frightened of her sexuality and how being with Emily made her feel, yet somehow that fear was nothing compared to how she felt now. Her fingers travelled across Emily's arm, across her skin in the shapes of flowers and stars, Emily's skin so soft underneath her touch. She'd thought about kissing her back then, that night, when they lay there talking about sex, it took all of her energy not to lean in and let their lips meet. Now Emily was there, moving in her sleep, rolling over until her beautiful features twitched and she moved in closer, snuggling up against Naomi's body. There was nothing she could do but stay there, hold her beautiful girlfriend as though the world was perfect, when really; it was on the edge of being anything but.

**VII**

India was over, the anticipation of going away together been and gone. They arrived home in the middle of the day to news of Freddie's murder. Gina greeted them with an over-the-top hug and mumbled confusion over whether they were alive or dead. Then she told them.

Emily was the first to react.

'What?' she cried out, her hand directed to her mouth when tears started to fall.

The shock silenced Naomi in words and emotions; shock not of their friend's absence of life, or the murder, but of fear and dread that eventually, somehow, her part in the murder of Freddie's killer would be revealed. Then her knees buckled.

'Naomi,' Gina gasped, her arms outstretched in time in catch her, support her, until Emily wrapped her clammy, shaking fingers around one arm and the two of them guided her into the house.

She didn't know Freddie, not like Cook and JJ. She'd laughed with Emily about him being the fun sponge in the group; his constant moods over Effy depressed them all. She'd had approximately two conversations alone with him in their time as 'friends', the reality was that they had the same friendship circle and that was their similarities ended. He liked skateboarding and getting high, she liked politics and deep debates (_and getting high_). He loved Effy, she loved Emily. Okay, so the differences weren't shocking. She guessed the only thing they ever really had in common was getting high and falling for someone that only created more issues in their boring lives.

'When did you find out?' Emily asked in her quietest voice, the voice that she used when she was on the verge of crying. Naomi had heard it before, many times; the worst and most recent time being on that roof, after she found out about Sophia.

'_I could be dead in a second…everything's, so, fragile.'_

That tone of voice split Naomi's heart, not least for the pain it caused Emily, but for her guilt, her regret over losing part of her for months when all she'd ever really needed was Emily. She'd wasted time, time she should have spent planning her future with her girlfriend, time that, had it been how she envisioned it to be, wouldn't have led to _that_ night.

'I got a call yesterday from your mum, Emily.'

'Katie,' Emily whispered as if realising for the first time that she had a sister. She stood up then dropped to her seat again. 'I don't know if I can handle seeing her yet.'

'You don't have to if you don't want love,' Gina assured her, resting a hand over the top of Emily's, holding it steady.

Naomi didn't speak, _couldn't_ speak let alone form words in her throat. She considered the various reasons a person became paralysed, tried to establish if perhaps she had some medical condition that stopped her from moving, speaking and worst of all, breathing.

**AN****: ****I've been working on this story since August. I've invested months of my time thinking up and creating this story. Please take just a moment out of your lives to review. I'll be forever grateful!**


	3. VIII, IX, X

**Title:** Guilt.

**Author: **Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Naomi/Emily, (with a side order of the Cookie Monster)

**Summary: **_"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."_

**Disclaimer: **Christmas is but a month away...you know you want to! ;D But no, currently, not mine.

**Warning:** Blood, guts and heartache.

**Notes: **This story was written for the **Skins Big Bang (on Livejournal)**. There is an accompaning fanmix which is available by clicking on the link in my profile. Thank you to **Lucy **my artist for creating it. Also a huge thank you to **tromana**, my beta, my cheerleader, my support in writing this (and her cat Zara who insisted on helping too), she also created some graphics which can be found on my profile too.

**Guilt.**

_Guilt is the source of sorrows, the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings._

_Nicholas Rowe_

**VIII**

The small, intimate funeral was held in a church. Nobody, not least Naomi, had expected a church. Freddie hadn't seemed overly religious in any way, yet really she knew very little about him. She didn't take the time in his life to get to know Freddie. Until the funeral she hadn't even known that his mum had died, leaving his father heartbroken. Why had she never known that?

'A keen skateboarder, Frederick took part in a handful of local and regional championships at just fourteen years of age,' the Vicar spoke in a monotonous drone.

Another fact she had no idea about. She cursed her role as a terrible friend and promised silently to a God she didn't believe in, that she would make up for having never asked Freddie questions about his life. Beside her Emily sobbed, her fingernails dug deeply into Naomi's thigh, a pain she hadn't realised was there until she focused her attention back onto her girlfriend. Her arm instinctively wrapped around her shoulder until a headful of Emily's hair was forced against her lips. She didn't mind, she never minded where Emily was concerned. Emily continued to shake under her grasp as grief invaded their little bubble and finally penetrated it. The holiday had been over merely days before; now the memory which she hoped would live on for months was broken and charred in the aftermath of Freddie's murder. On her other side JJ rocked back and forth mumbling to himself, the only source of comfort coming from his girlfriend's hand clutching tightly to his. All around her people cried in various degrees from sobs to a few stray drops strolling down cheeks. Naomi couldn't cry. She had, in her own way, already grieved for Freddie. Not that she could tell anybody that.

_The night a few days after the incident she woke up to the howling weather outside, a freak storm in the middle of summer that belonged in December. She lay in the silence, watching Emily continue in her doze, focusing on the little things that she loved about her girlfriend in an attempt to forget the horrors burning holes in her body. Then the tears started, only a couple at first sliding along her cheeks and mixing with her hair, falling carelessly into her ears. Her skin pricked up, goose bumps forcing her to shiver under the warm duvet. Emily twisted about, turning over and moaning in her sleep. That was when Naomi knew she couldn't stay there, in their bed. She slid out from under the covers, regretting it the instant the cold night hit her body. She moved across the room until she was far enough away that Emily wouldn't be able to hear her sobs or feel her shaking._

_The corner provided little comfort despite her old rabbit toy being there. She picked it up and wrapped herself around it as she did so many times as a child. If only she was back there, being a younger version of herself, when mistakes were fixed by her mother and holding that little fluffy rabbit made everything so much better. Emily was her rabbit now; she provided comfort where nothing else would work. If only she knew, then perhaps Naomi wouldn't have to rely on an old, useless toy. The longer she sat there the harder it became to ignore the pain festering around her heart, tugging at every inch of her body, fighting with her brain for attention. Her usually inner-self stood guard, swords drawn and fists out. She was willing to fight if she had to._

_But then everything hit her at once; Freddie was dead. John Foster was dead. Her life as she knew it was _dead_. There was no escaping that and there never would be. In the long term she would probably face the consequences of her actions. Crimes don't stay hidden for long and Cook was still on the run from the police. Who knew what would happen when they finally caught up with him? Her defenses broke down, the little people in her mind were killed, destroyed in one quick move and she was left helpless but to cry. So she let the tears fall, allowed rivers and oceans to form at her feet as she let go of everything inside and sobbed for as long as her weary body would allow it. By morning she was showered, her eyes had returned to normal and she was too busy sliding her hand between Emily's thighs to let what happened up until an hour before be known to the one person she was desperate to hide it from._

The funeral ended in a song and the mourners were left to their own devices. There was a wake which they didn't go to. Nobody felt like celebrating, nobody was strong enough to get through the pleasantries. JJ still shook in Lara's arms; Effy looked like she'd been hit by a bus and Katie and Emily couldn't form smiles. Instead they went back to Naomi's and drank vodka, smoked spliffs and tried to block out what was really happening.

Being the only one who wasn't a mess, Naomi took it upon herself to look after everyone else. She kept the alcohol coming, even cooked some food to help soak up the drink. She felt guilty allowing her friends to sink into drink and drug filled depression, but what other option did she have? Whilst pizza cooked in the oven, she sat down at the kitchen table, stirring a mug of tea. She hadn't touched the alcohol or the drugs and she wasn't sure why. When things with Emily went from bad to worse she'd took solace in the warm places that vodka and weed made; only it didn't make her a better person, it made her worse. She couldn't shake the feeling that if she did what she usually did; her world would come crashing down around her ears. The tea tasted like shit, some fancy kind her mum had brought back from Ireland. Everything was different now, everything. Getting back together with Emily should have made it normal, but it didn't.

'_Naomi love, I know this isn't the best day, what with Freddie's funeral. But we needed to tell you sooner rather than later.'_

'_What are you talking about mum?'_

'_Kieran and I, well, we're having a baby.'_

Words couldn't describe how much everything was changing. Naomi congratulated her mother and step-dad, they got married whilst they were in Ireland and they didn't bother inviting her, did they? Not that she cared; she hated weddings as much as she hated funerals. She was going to be a big sister though; a little, tiny person was going to look up to her for guidance. What a shit load the baby was going to get having a criminal, drugged-up lesbian as a sister. Not that she even considered herself to be gay, she just _was_. She was Emily's. Past that she didn't know what she would be.

'Fuck off,' Effy cried out, appearing at the kitchen door with tears in her eyes.

'What's happened?' Naomi questioned, looking up at her with concern.

'Cook fucking tried it on with me.'

'He did what?'

'He's fucked off his face; he didn't know what he was doing.'

He was always fucked off his face. Since she returned from the holiday with Emily, things with Cook seemed to have spiralled out of control. He turned up to the funeral drunk; he wasn't even supposed to go. The police were constantly searching for him, it was too dangerous.

'If I have to slap Cook across the face one more time,' Katie shouted, entering the kitchen with her angry face on.

'Christ,' Naomi sighed, leaving the kitchen in search of Cook.

By the time she reached the lounge he'd already passed out on the floor. Karen sat in the corner being comforted by Lara, whilst JJ stood by himself in the middle of the room. Naomi searched for Emily, she wasn't there and she hadn't been in the kitchen. As if right on cue, Emily appeared from the stairs, her eyes bright red and puffy. She slid her arms round Naomi's waist and cried against her shoulder, forcing comfort where Naomi had none left. Effy and Katie re-entered the room, pushing past them carelessly.

'Pizza's done Naomi,' Katie informed her without so much as an apology. 'It smells burnt, wanna put another one in? I don't like burnt pizza, yeah.'

Everything was such a fucking mess; the room was covered in cans of beer, empty bottles of vodka, remnants of the food she'd already cooked. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, her heart thumping inside her chest. Emily clung to her, not allowing her to move. She couldn't do it, couldn't handle everyone vying for her attention. What was she? The fucking mother?

'Naomi, do you have any more mango juice?' JJ asked his voice small and pained.

'No I don't fucking have any more fucking mango juice,' she snapped. 'Do I look like a fucking supermarket? I don't drink mango juice; Emily doesn't drink mango juice, nobody in the world drinks fucking mango juice except you, you fucking mong.'

The room silenced, Emily pulled out of Naomi's arms with furrowed eyebrows. Everyone looked at her, stared at her with confusion and shock. She didn't mean it. She didn't mean to say something so fucking cruel to JJ, the one person who wasn't tugging at her for attention. All he wanted was something that made him feel safe and all she could do was shout at him.

'I'm sorry,' he gasped, wiping his eyes.

'Don't be fucking sorry,' she screamed, her feelings of guilt did not eclispe her anger. Before she realised what she was doing her hand came down hard across his face. 'You're such a fucking wimp, stop being such a fucking wimp and don't be fucking sorry.'

Emily and Katie wrapped their arms around her shoulders, tugging her back as Lara and Effy comforted JJ. Each person, her friends, all of them stared at her aghast. She couldn't stand it, couldn't stand them looking at her, judging her. She did wrong; she knew she'd done wrong. She didn't need anyone to fucking remind her of that.

'Get out,' she snarled; fighting her way out of Emily and Katie's grasp. Tears ran down her face, racing with each other until her cheeks were covered in red, blotchy stains. 'Get out of my fucking house; you're all fucking selfish twats. Leave me the fuck alone.'

They left, each one of them filed out one by one until only Emily stood beside her. Even Cook, who'd woken from his drug filled slumber, stumbled out behind the rest of them. Emily turned to her with her sad, puppy dog eyes, so fucking huge and teary and all Naomi could do was feel rage continuing to burn inside her chest.

'I'm sorry Naomi,' Emily tried, guiltily. 'I thought you were coping.'

'Did you think that didn't include you?' she asked, ignoring Emily's support. 'Get out Emily, just fucking leave.'

She nodded, her eyes overflowing with tears, her hair matted against her cheeks as she turned away from Naomi. A lump formed in Naomi's throat until she could barely breathe, couldn't do anything but gasp for breath until Emily's sympathetic eyes disappeared from sight and the front door closed behind her.

**IX**

Nothing happened for two days. After everyone left, Naomi went to her bedroom and cried, screamed into a pillow, banged her fists against the duvet. She let out every bit of frustration and anxiety she had left in her until she fell asleep, still huddled up around her pillows mid-punching. She'd pushed her away. She'd pushed them all away. They were her friends, regardless of the secrets she kept from them; they were the people who had stood by her for two years whilst she fucked up time and time again. And Emily, her beautiful, heartbroken Emily had stared at her looking sad, looking guilty. What did she have to be guilty about? Naomi was in the wrong; she was always in the wrong.

'You've been in here a long time,' Gina called from the other side of the door. There was nothing left inside of Naomi. She didn't even have the energy to make a sarcastic response. To make any kind of response at all. She'd disappeared before her mum and Kieran had arrived home.

'I'm fine,' she called back. Her throat ached from the lump building, from shouting, from screaming.

'Whatever's happened, if this is your way of grieving, we can do this together Naomi.'

If only they could. If only Naomi could accept her mother's words of wisdom and feel better for it. She'd taken them before; they'd pushed her to be with Emily, they'd made her face up to herself where once she would have shied away. But none of that mattered now. Nothing could take away what she'd done; helping Cook, shouting at her grieving friends, sending Emily packing.

By late evening a knock on her bedroom door pushed a groan from her throat, 'Not now mum.'

'It's not Gina,' a voice replied. The door opened and Emily stood there with her hair tied back and a bunch of flowers in her hands. A sheepish expression stared at her from the doorway as her lip curled on the left hand side and Emily held up a block of cheese.

Shock paralysed her again, her mouth agape, her hands digging into her thighs. How could Emily look so happy to be there? Why was she bringing her flowers and dairy products? She'd shouted, she'd screamed at her to leave and yet she came back with her tail between her legs looking as guilty then as she had after Freddie's funeral.

'I'm sorry Naomi,' she whispered, stalking across the room and perching on the edge of the bed, pushing her hand into Naomi's. 'We've all been so fucked up, grieving for Freddie. I should have seen that you were grieving too. I shouldn't have been so selfish. You needed me and all I did was ask for your comfort.'

'Emily,' she tried, sitting up straighter. She couldn't bear the thought of Emily thinking this was her fault, thinking that she was to blame for any of her own stupid indiscretions.

But she wouldn't listen, 'Please Naomi, don't, just accept my apology and let's get back to being together.'

'Okay,' she nodded, allowing Emily permission to slide her hands around her neck and push their lips together in a passionate embrace.

Emily's forcefulness surprised her; it shouldn't have because she knew how Emily could be. She lay down, cupped her hands around Emily's lower hand and pulled her on top as their kisses intensified. She got lost in her favourite activity, allowed her hands to wander along the surface of Emily's skin, underneath her clothes until they'd discarded items in favour of wrapping themselves up in each other.

When they finished they fell asleep together, legs twisted together, Emily's arm laid across her back whilst her own wrapped tightly around Emily's waist. Sleep didn't last long, it never did. She woke to darkness. Emily curled up on her side of the bed; their bodies slipped apart as they'd relaxed fully. She stared at her naked shoulders, reached forwards to kiss the skin between her collar bones. Then she rolled over, stared out into the darkness where her nightmares stood. Her breath hitched as John Foster's broken face lay there in the shadows, sucking the oxygen from the room. She'd never sleep, not now, not ever.

**X**

The fact that everybody knew about Freddie's death made life a little easier. In the days that followed the funeral and the make-up with Emily, they began to act once more like a couple again. They printed off the photos from their trip and spent hours organising them into albums, discussing the stories that belonged to all two-thousand of them. In the waking hours Naomi's smile returned to her face and at night, when the world was asleep, she logged onto her laptop in order to get some peace from the ghost in the shadows.

'What are we eating?' Naomi asked, wrapping her arms around Emily's waist and kissing her neck. The room was filled with wonderful smells, the table cluttered with pots, pans and packaging as Emily concocted a romantic meal.

Emily turned, 'That's for me to know and you to go upstairs until I'm done.'

Naomi stared at her, putting them in a stand-off, 'I want to help and I'm starving.'

'Here's some cheese, go have a fag,' Emily ordered, handing her a small block of Cheddar.

The garden was colder than she would have liked, the flowers that Emily planted during the summer were beginning to die off as the mornings became frostier. She sat down on the bench, wrapped her jacket tightly around her front and sucked on a cigarette. Her nerves still bothered her, more so since Cook had been attempting to ring her. She cancelled what must have been the sixteenth call that day. All he ever did was call to tell her how much he loved her and appreciated her help, or beg her to save him from the monsters. He was always drunk, or drugged up, or both.

'Fuck off Cook,' she called into the phone, hanging up straight away.

Life was getting better. If only he'd stop reminding her every minute of the day that she had something to hide, then it would be even better. She stuck her head in the door and requested that Emily hurried up once more before returning to smoke another cigarette. She contemplated what would happen if nobody ever found out about John Foster's death. They'd go to university. Naomi would welcome her baby brother or sister into the world. She'd move into a flat with Emily the second they finished studying. She even pictured them getting married. Naomi would go to the Fitch house, face up to the scary Rob Fitch in order to ask for Emily's hand. She'd never been the traditional type, but that, that was something she would do. For Emily, for their future.

'Dinnertime,' Emily called out to her, pulling her to her feet and dragging her back into the house where they kissed deeply before sitting down at the table, a candle lit between them.

Everything was perfect; they ate the meal and went upstairs to the bedroom. They lay together, just lying there sharing the same space, breathing the same air; until the storm arrived.

It all started when she checked her phone and saw a message from Cook.

'_Bitch, tried ringing. Why won't you pick up? I'm going to the police, can't do it anymore. Sorry.'_

A loud bang rang through the house, it was over, it was finally over. Emily looked at Naomi with confusion as she dragged her out of the bedroom, up the stairs to the attic and into a tiny corner. She tugged an old piece of carpet over their heads and hid them, a make-shift fort made mostly of cardboard boxes. She felt like a child again, hiding from her grandmother when she broke a vase her mother gave her. Naomi's heart thumped along and the closer they sat the harder Emily's heart beat into her. She knew she was confused, she was confusing her, making her worry about something that shouldn't have affected her life. But it was; she was letting it happen.

'What the fuck is going on?' Emily gasped until Naomi's hand covered her mouth and her eyes stared up at her wildly, she was scared now, petrified not only of the situation, but of Naomi. She knew she could make it easier, could explain everything with a few short sentences, but vocalising what she'd done would make it real. She'd already spent months ridding herself of the thoughts, removing the constant nightmares that plagued her sleep and sometimes her wakefulness too.

'Shh,' she told her, removing her fingers from Emily's face. She didn't look happier, or comforted, not even when she rubbed her back. She used to love it when she rubbed her back and said it always made her feel like someone was looking after her.

'But,' she tried to whisper, but Naomi shook her head and she stayed silent. There was nothing else to do but wait as the banging continued, getting louder. One final smash and the front door was broken down. People were moving all over the house. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. Searching, searching for her, for proof of the crime she was too scared to admit. She didn't notice the strength of her fingers around Emily's hand until she pulled her hand away and it was bleeding, her fingernails drawing blood across her palm. She wanted to cry for the pain she'd caused, would cause, but she couldn't make any noise.

The hatch to the room opened, light filling the spaces between the boxes and her heart leapt into her throat. That was it; her life was about to end in a way she never thought possible. She had always dreamt of going to university, getting a job and becoming an adult with responsibilities. Ever since meeting Emily she'd dreamt of it all being with her. Now all she could see was her new fate, without Emily, without anyone, just a small, empty room.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Stay here.'

She was more confused now than she ever was before and that scared her, she wasn't just confused by life, but by Naomi, by her actions and existence. She wanted to explain in great detail, but the pain in Emily's face made her heart break into pieces. She started to cry, kissed her cheek and slid out of their hiding place. She prayed that she couldn't hear the words being spoken, but she knew she could.

'Naomi Campbell, we're arresting you on suspicion of being an accessory to the murder of John Foster and perverting the course of justice. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

As the police officers dragged her away she felt calm. A strange sense of relief that everything was over, no more secrets, no more nightmares caused by the face of John Foster. She was free. Except that she wasn't, not really. It was only the start, the start of what? She didn't know. They opened the door to the police car, helped her inside where she sat silently staring out of the window. Her eyes caught Emily's and a lump formed in her throat. She needed to explain, needed to tell her everything from her point of view. Emily tried to get to her, but an officer held her there, in the doorway. Her face contorted with anguish, confusion that she had caused and then they drove her away and there was nothing she could do but picture Emily's broken face sobbing.

**AN****: ****I've been working on this story since August. I've invested months of my time thinking up and creating this story. Please take just a moment out of your lives to review. I'll be forever grateful!**


	4. Epilogue

**Title:** Guilt.

**Author: **Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Naomi/Emily, (with a side order of the Cookie Monster)

**Summary: **_"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."_

**Disclaimer: **Christmas is but a month away...you know you want to! ;D But no, currently, not mine.

**Warning:** Blood, guts and heartache.

**Notes: **This story was written for the **Skins Big Bang (on Livejournal)**. There is an accompaning fanmix which is available by clicking on the link in my profile. Thank you to **Lucy **my artist for creating it. Also a huge thank you to **tromana**, my beta, my cheerleader, my support in writing this (and her cat Zara who insisted on helping too), she also created some graphics which can be found on my profile too.

**Guilt.**

_The guilty catch themselves._

_Author Unknown_

**Epilogue**

Guilt. Secrets could only be kept for so long. Naomi had learnt that the hard way and almost lost Emily because of it; had probably lost her now anyway. She'd always thought after sleeping with Sophia that betrayal of the heart was the worst crime she could commit. Then the phone call had come in from Cook. The police station smelled of urine, a forceful waft of it hit her nostrils when the door opened and only became more potent as she was escorted to the cells. Her guilt appeared eased with the truth's revelation. Emily knew; she was no longer hiding something so dangerous inside. That didn't make everything better, however. How could it? She sat, perched on a bench in a tiny cell that smelled not just of urine but of other bodily scents. A nightmare was coming true for the second time. Images of John Foster's beaten face flooded her memory and she couldn't escape the undeniable pain she felt because of it. Emily might have found out the truth, but that wasn't to say she was going to accept Naomi's version of events. The police didn't. Not that she'd had chance to explain. But their arrest was made and that confirmed their place in the whole sorry affair. She had committed a crime, regardless of the reasons for it; the responsibility lay with her. She had known what she was doing when she ordered Cook to focus and help her carry the body up to the street; that it was wrong that she forced him to break into a car and hotwire the system in order to drive the body away. She knew full well the criminal acts she was committing by sending John Foster's body into the lake with the car. There was no doubt that it was wrong, perhaps evil to cover up a crime as horrible as murder.

That's when it dawned on her, the reality of what she'd done. With Sophia, she'd been petrified of what her crimes would do for her future, to her relationship with Emily. Cook saved them; he stopped her fears from being justified and was relieved. There was no stopping this though, she was guilty and they knew it. She could argue and fight back, but nothing would change the fact that you can't get away with crimes. This was her comeuppance for everything she had done since selling Sophia the drugs. Emily would know, she'd have to know, if only to ease her own cheating heart of the burden. Emily loved her which gave her hope of things working out for the better. Until the officers called her.

'I hope you realise what this means Ms Campbell.'

She lowered her gave and gave a brief nod.

'If you tell us the truth you might get away with two, three years maximum. But know that you will be going to prison for this.'

Prison. Jail. A convict. She would forever be branded a criminal, someone who covered up the murder of a 'respected' member of society. There was no escaping that, no running away and certainly no Cook to cover it all up.

'We have your associate, Mr. James Cook; he told us everything Ms. Campbell.'

Her heart fell, her stomach twisted up. How could he do that? After everything, how could he put her in the middle of this?

'Did he tell you about Freddie? Did he tell you what that man did to him?'

'He did.'

'Doesn't that matter?'

'Quite frankly Ms. Campbell, no. Mr. Foster could have been a mass murdering rapist and that would change nothing. The law's the law; you cannot take the law into your own hands and expect to get away with it.'

'But he had a reason.'

'My wife irritates the crap out of me when she tells me how to drive, I don't crash into a wall just to shut her up.'

'It wasn't like that.'

'No. I'm sure it wasn't.'

In every one of her nightmares about the moment Emily found out the truth, not one of them prepared Naomi for actually facing her. She sat in a tiny room at the back of the court, trying her best not to let any tears fall. She knew if one escaped, then the rest would follow and perhaps then she'd drown in the sorrow already imprisoning her in her own body. Barely fifteen minutes before, she'd sat in front of a judge and made her plea. Her eyes downturned doing everything possible not to look at the small audience where she knew her mother and girlfriend were sitting. The whole process happened so quickly from police cell, to court room. She had no chance to tell Emily that she loved her, to explain what had happened. She had no way of accepting her mother's usual words of wisdom before opening up to the only other person she lived for.

'How do you plead?'

'Guilty.'

The two, easily recognisable sobs that sliced the air broke her into pieces without much effort. She wondered if death by firing squad would have been less painful. So many things she wanted to say remained unsaid, the many questions her family would have asked unable to be answered. Everything she'd done, she had done for Cook yet everything that happened then, after, would only affect the people she cared for the most. When they took her out of the court room she searched for Emily, for her mum, but all she saw was red hair floating away through the doorway.

'You have ten minutes,' her solicitor muttered in that sorrowful expression he'd used since the moment they met the day before. He'd been friends with Gina for years, had only really done civil cases, but by the sounds of it he felt compelled into helping a broken hearted mother.

'Mum!' she cried, seeing a familiar face fill the void. She leapt from her chair, wrapped herself tightly around the woman that gave her everything and clung to her shoulders. 'I'm so sorry, I'm so, so, fucking, sorry.'

'Sit down love,' Gina whispered, pushing her away. 'You'll need to get used to not touching visitors.'

The light in her voice had gone, probably extinguished by the actions that had taken her own light. Her blue eyes looked greyer than usual, puffy and red from the tears Naomi had heard; she looked as broken as Naomi felt. Then she saw it, the red of Emily's hair that should have left her feeling happier. Instead she was left with a mixture of grief, guilt and sickness brought on by the association with blood.

'Emily,' she gasped, the name becoming alien to her tongue, wrong spoken from her toxic lips. She didn't deserve to speak such poetic beauty when she'd broken the heart of the girl she promised to be more honest with.

'Fucking hell,' she sobbed, unable to stop the tears any longer. Gina's hand tucked neatly into hers, the perfect fit, a hand of strength for which she could always rely. 'I'm such a fuck up.'

'Wish we could disagree with you,' Gina sighed, her usual optimism severely missed.

'Will you sit down?' Naomi asked, daring to share eye contact with Emily for the first time.

'No,' the crackled response sounded smaller, more broken than Naomi had imagined it ever could. They'd been there before; a truth revealed that broke both their hearts. They shouldn't have had to relive it.

'Why not?'

'Why should I?'

Accusation lingered, as though Naomi had asked her to jump off a cliff with her by her side. Any hope of comfort, or warmth, or the broken hearted cries she'd had before, was gone.

'I shouldn't have kept this from either of you.'

'No,' Gina answered, simply, without judgement; yet filled with as much accusation as Emily's few words.

'Does it fucking matter anymore Naomi?' Emily shouted, anger invading every possibility of hope Naomi had left. 'You lied; you cheated in a way worse than sleeping with someone else. You committed a fucking crime.'

Naomi rose to her feet, desperate to right her wrongs. 'Don't you think I know that? That i don't think about it every single day? I can't escape this.'

'And whose fault is that?'

'Why are you being so cold?'

'Why are you so surprised?'

The questions answered with questions only fuelled the interrogation. She'd expected worse from the police, hadn't anticipated how hard it would be facing her girlfriend.

'Mine, alright?'

It wasn't alright, it never would be. She didn't need a crystal ball to know that, she didn't need time. She could see it; hear it in Emily's voice. There was no going back and no amount of arguing or defending her actions would change that. She'd made mistakes, thought she'd learnt from them, then realised she'd made the same mistakes again.

'It's my fault. Everything is my fault. It's always been me. I was never good enough for you Emily. I fucked you around; I made you think that everything was your fault. I love you so much; it fucking kills me every day knowing what I've done to you. I'm poison. I'm like a cat. I cuddle up to you and pretend to be your friend and then the next minute my teeth are in your arm and there's nothing you can do but shout at me and then I fill you with venom that makes you fall in love with me the same way that I love you. Then I do everything I can to keep you away.'

Attempting eye contact was no longer an option as Naomi noticed eyes looking everywhere but at her. She allowed her head to fall, stared down at a coffee cup stain on the table and circled it with her finger. The silence was deafening and all she could do was sit there and wait it out.

'Why?'

Emily's voice came as tiny as the day she muttered 'I'll miss you' in the college corridor, filled with as much suffering as Naomi had sensed then. Inner conflict she knew fought inside Emily's body; the need for answers, yet the fear of knowing the truth. She wanted to tell her to go, to push her away because there was no going back. She expected Emily knew there was no going back too, yet she felt compelled to be more honest than she'd ever promised to be. Hoped that in some twisted way, Emily's final memories of her would be as an honest person.

'He risked everything, what choice did I have?'

'No,' Emily sighed, sitting down opposite her and clenching her fists on the table top. 'Why did you lie to me? After everything we went through, why did you break your promise?'

Naomi looked up, closed her eyes at the fatal look in Emily's eyes.

'What other choice did I have? Cook didn't deal a bit of weed. He killed someone with his bare hands. Do you think I wanted you involved in that? You could have been sitting here with me if I'd told you.'

Clarity hit like the car as it smashed into the water, carrying with it the secrets of Foster's death. Naomi had been scared, petrified of the thought of Emily hating her as much as she hated herself. She'd been worried that she'd lose the love of her life and the unconditional love of her mother. But mostly, she knew she'd involved herself in something so serious that involving Emily would do more harm than good.

'So you just lied,' Emily cried, overcome by tears. 'About everything. Secrets, phone calls, we spent weeks in fucking India together and you said nothing.'

'Do you think I wanted to keep this from you Em? It's killed me, lying to you. With Sophia, I chose to keep the truth from you; with this, I had Cook on one side, telling me he needed my help him. I had you there not knowing anything.'

Brown eyes stared at her in contortion, twisted up with the pain and suffering she sensed Emily was feeling. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment.

'I thought you loved me.'

'I do love you.'

'Then why does this hurt so much?'

'It hurts me too.'

Their hands rested on the table, inches apart as they snaked forwards until Emily's hand rested over Naomi's. Her heart leapt and thoughts of that lake swept her away. Emily's hand cupping hers loosely as they smoked a spliff and shared the most intimate moment they'd ever had. Then the car rolling down the same embankment, crashing through one of the happiest moments of her life.

'Time's up,' the solicitor announced, opening the door. 'They've got the van ready to take you to the prison.'

'No,' Naomi gasped, standing up, letting go of Emily's hand. She cupped her face sobbing at the feelings of dread. Leaving Emily was one of the hardest things she would ever have to do.

They moved towards the door where Gina grabbed her tightly, held her until she had little breath left in her lungs, kissed her cheek gently.

'Don't hate me.'

Gina shook her head. 'I love you my baby girl, I couldn't ever hate you.'

Then she stared at Emily, wanting desperately to hold her and kiss her and take her against the wall one final time, but she couldn't. Instead she closed her eyes and hoped they'd leave by the time she opened them again. Until a pair of lips reached hers. She opened her eyes and they were kissing passionately, with tears streaming down their cheeks. The moment took her back to the night Cook killed Foster, to the moment where everything was okay and they'd revealed their love for each other once more. She pulled back, cupped Emily's face and shook her head in apology.

'If I could change this, I would.'

'You can't. We can't.'

'Have a good life Emily, you deserve to.'

She let go, dropped the contact and stepped backwards. She couldn't do it any longer, hold her near when they would never be that close again. So she stood back and watched Emily's face break up in anguish.

'I'll wait for you,' she whispered, clinging onto Gina's arm to support herself.

Everything that had happened, every mistake she'd made, she'd been the cause of those tears. She broke Emily time and again and she never managed to pick up the pieces. She wasn't sure how much energy she had left. They didn't know how long she'd be in prison for; they didn't know what sort of life she'd have there. She suspected it would change her, break her, push her into a place where she wouldn't want to be. She'd probably do things she would feel ashamed of, things she didn't want Emily to feel ashamed of. She was too good for that. She was beautiful and amazing and she had her whole life ahead of her. She couldn't tie her down.

Tears caught up in her throat, made it ache worse than the time she'd broken her arm as a child. She didn't want to say it, yet couldn't not. So she pushed it out.

'Don't.'

Then she turned away, stood with her face against the wall and listened as her family walked away. Then the handcuffs were clipped around her wrists and she was being marched down a corridor, away from that room, away from those final memories of the people she'd hurt.

**The End.**

**AN****: ****I've been working on this story since August. I've invested months of my time thinking up and creating this story. Please take just a moment out of your lives to review. I'll be forever grateful!**


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